


Dark Nights

by katrinajg



Series: Our doubts are our traitors [1]
Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinajg/pseuds/katrinajg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I've had some dark nights of the soul, of course, but giving into depression would be a sellout, a defeat." -Christopher Hitchens</i>
</p><p>A series of short one-shots concerning David Sarif and the nights he spends at his office while Adam is out saving the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long night in a sequence of them, Sarif argues with Dr. Marcovic to have Adam released from sick leave for the mission at the Milwaukee plant.

“God dammit, I don't care if it's only been six months, we need Adam back. _Now_.” Sarif snapped, voice rough from lack of sleep and the dull throb of a building migraine.

Dr. Marcovic was unimpressed. “Detriot has an excellent police force, you do not need Mr. Jensen.”

“He's stir crazy from your insistence on him sticking with his recovery schedule, he needs this-”

“You mean _you_ need this Mr. Sarif.” Her tone was frigid. 

Sarif narrowed his eyes and leaned on the desk to come as close to the image of Marcovic as he could. “Yes, I need Adam, Doctor. And with all due respect, you have no idea what he's capable of.”

“Oh and you do? Is that why you made him more machine than man? That contract he signed may have been legally binding, but it was not right. You had no right to make him into that.”

“I'm not here to argue the legality vs the morality of the situation, Doctor.” Sarif sighed, suddenly weary of all... _this._ He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn't expect for this to happen, any of it-” he straightened and continued sharply, “-however, regardless of whether you approve or not, this is what Adam was built for. Transfer him from sick leave.”

Marcovic stared sternly out from the view screen at Sarif, and he crossed his arms. He couldn't afford to lose this battle, not now, and they couldn't afford to lose his donations.

She sighed, the same weary sound he'd just expressed moments before. “I suppose you'll pull your support if I do not?”

He stood there, a frown etched on his features, unmoving in his continence. He wouldn't say it out loud, but they both knew he would if he had to. It would be inconvenient, this L.I.M.B. clinic was _so_ close to Sarif Industries headquarters, but he could always go to Cleveland, or even Toronto if necessary. 

“…Very well,” she acquiesced, though her disapproval was still loud and clear. Off camera, her fingers flew over a keyboard, and the distant clack could be heard over the connection. “There, Mr. Jensen is cleared to return to work.”

“Thank you,” he replied, genuinely grateful. He wasn't sure what he'd if done if she hadn't agreed.

Marcovic made to close the call, but Sarif spoke before she could.

“And Doctor? Make sure those Praxis kits are available tonight. I'll be sending Adam by later.”

She gave a curt nod and closed the connection.

Sarif blew out a huff of air in irritation and collapsed into his desk chair. He took to rubbing the flesh where his where his cybernetic arm prosthetic met his chest. It was aching fiercely; a sure sign that he was overdue with his Neuropozyne injection. As was the blooming migraine that was currently eating away at his patience. 

He had a tendency to ignore the recommended intervals between injections -there was always something else to do, something else that needed his attention, and the injections left him fuzzy and nauseous for a couple of days. An unfortunate allergic reaction that impaired cognitive functions until the drug had dissipated. As of late, it was a side effect he couldn't afford to have.

Sarif yanked opened his top desk drawer and fished around for some pain killers.

_'After the situation is resolved at the plant,'_ he thought to himself, hoping that this was last crisis for a while. He took a gulp of cold coffee to down the pills and grimaced at the taste. Then, he turned to his computer screen and put in a call into Pritchard. Audio only.

“Frank, it's David.” God, he sounded tired. “Call Adam and tell him to get in here ASAP, I just spoke with Dr. Marcovic and she's released him from sick leave.”

“Why me?” Sarif could just see the sneer on Pritchard's face.

'Because I told you to', was what he felt like snapping. Instead, he rolled his neck and replied far more diplomatically. “Because you'll be running comms, and I want you to brief Adam on the situation.”

“Fine, I'll make sure he gets here... _yesterday_.”

“Good.” Sarif closed the connection. 

He leaned back in his chair and grabbed his baseball off its little stand. Rolling it around in the palm of his cybernetic hand, Sarif allowed himself a moment to wallow in self-pity as the day's events -and previous ones- stacked themselves upon his shoulders. 

He wondered just how bad this latest crisis was going to turn out, what needed to be done for damage control (he clenched the baseball as he considered the possibly that the Typhoon could be stolen), and just how the hell he was going to stay afloat with all the shit that had been going on.

Sarif felt the pressure behind his eyes ease as the painkillers kicked in and straightened his spine with a crack. He gave the baseball a quick toss before setting it back on its stand and brushed aside the self-pity for something more constructive. 

He sent a quick text message to Malik:

> ETA?  
> D.

She replied:

> 10 min.

Good, that should give Adam enough time to get here. He hoped it wouldn't be much longer than that. By now, SWAT was already on scene and he didn't know how long they would wait, even with his pressuring the Captain. The man was only going to allow a mutually beneficial relationship between Sarif Industries and the Detroit PD sway him so far. No, Sarif was going to have to play dirty on this one, and he knew just how close the Captain was to retiring. 

The video caller ID chirped on his screen: Detroit PD. Speak of the devil... 

Sarif sighed and stretched his augmented shoulder before accepting the call. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this written for a long while, almost as soon as I'd finished the game, but I thought it wasn't cannon complaint and didn't post it. Now I can't remember why I thought that, and I still like this piece so I brushed it up. 
> 
> I imagine that since L.I.M.B. is the most pervasive installer of augments, that they would have say in when a patient is ready to return to work. Since there are not only physical difficulties to over come, but psychological ones as well. I don't think they can make you do anything you don't want, but if you don't have their approval it voids the warranty or makes you un-insurable or something like that.
> 
> Edit 02/13/2016: I found out why I thought this wasn't cannon compliant during a recent play through. There is a email on one of the terminals in the Sarif Industries HQ (I think its in the lawyers office) where David Sarif talks about how Marcovic cleared Adam to return to work a couple of months ago, but they didn't bring him in because they weren't sure about his mental state. Which considering the state of his mirror, is completely understandable, but I like this version of events.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after the 'Yes Boss' achievement conversation with Sarif about the firewall back door.

Sarif pulled out his desk chair and sat down heavily. He looked to the door Adam had just disappeared out of and couldn't hold back a bout of laughter. Oh, he had been played and marvellously too. 

Adam read him like a book and that brought a smile to Sarif’s face, because it meant that Adam used his CASIE aug, which in turn, Sarif hoped, meant that Adam was warming to his augments. He knew how angry and displaced Adam had felt about the whole situation, and while Sarif regretted those sentiments, but he did not regret giving Adam those augments. He was the beginning of a human revolution. 

Sarif needed Adam on his side, for who he was, what he was capable of, and for what his genes held for the future of augments. He would have to wait, bide his time concerning Adam, but this latest conversation gave him hope, much like one in Adam's apartment that resulted in a smashed bathroom mirror, made him believe Adam would never forgive him. 

Sarif pulled up the information that Adam wanted concerning White Helix Labs and the information he had the ex-cop dig up -the contents broke his easy mood; there was something here he was missing. Something about Adam and those labs that raised his hackles. He broke off the search because a gut feeling told him it was too close to something potentially dangerous. Now, he knew that whatever it was that scared him about this was something they both needed to know. It would be important and by passing the information on to Adam, Sarif hoped they would discover what exactly that was. 

He sent the files off with a short message. Sarif had considered deleting his conversation with the ex-cop but decided against it. Honesty would win him Adam's loyalty. 

Sarif leaned back in his chair and picked up his baseball, rolling it in the palm of his augmented hand. He turned and looked out on to Detroit, as he considered calling Darrow. Then, he shook his head. He had been relying too much on Darrow lately, with the attack, Adam's recovery, and everything subsequent. He was starting to feel like he was a young, inexperienced man again, always running to Hugh with every little problem and thought, and he was far from that. 

Then, he heard the distinctive chime of his holographic vid-phone go off and smiled. Only one person called his office this late at night with the certainty of knowing Sarif would be in. No, he wasn't a young man anymore, but sometimes one needs the comfort of family and this was a victory worth sharing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short look at Sarif thoughts during the helicopter ride to the Milwaukee Plant.

_'They will look to you for leadership, David. As an example. Your mood will influence theirs; be calm and collected regardless of the situation and your people will be too.'_

Darrow's words had stuck with him his whole career. 

Sarif never particularly saw himself as a leader, but people always seemed to look to him for guidance. After he started Sarif Industries, he was surprised at how easily leadership came to him and those words had always been the driving force behind his relationship with his employees. 

Watching Adam enter the helicopter (the first time in weeks he had laid eyes on the man after they had a spectacular row ending in a smashed mirror), Sarif was outwardly calm and collected. He knew that was what he had to be. Adam was ready to come back, of that he was sure, but their relationship right now was tenuous at best. Adam would sense any weakness in Sarif and that could cost him his greatest asset and advocate.

"I told Faridah to put us down on a roof. I don't want the crowd seeing you go in."

A quick frown pulled at Adam's face before it vanished. "Fine. As long as she pulls you out the minute I'm gone."

Sarif felt a flash of hope that those words were the beginning of forgiveness and not a man simply doing his job.

“So what am I looking at? Who are these guys?”

Talking to Adam felt like it was happening beyond him; like it was someone else giving orders about the ex-marine, the Typhoon, and the hostages inside. Sarif knew it was callous of him to stress the importance of the Typhoon over any hostages, but millions of dollars were riding on that technology, millions that would go to save his drowning company. He knew Adam would get both done, just as he knew that those people wouldn't have work if Sarif Industries went under. 

Even knowing all that, that helicopter ride was the longest, _tensest_ , five minutes of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene after Adam leaves Picus and before he confronts Sarif at his apartment. During the Detroit anti-augment riots.

It was late when Sarif's holographic vid-phone went off. 

Most of the day was gone in a blur of press conferences urging peaceful protests, polite bullshit traded with Taggart via the media hounds, and a _scathing_ interview with Eliza Cassan. Sarif was exhausted, bone-weary from that morning's crushing confirmation that the Illuminati had well and truly made his company, his people, a target. It should have been a rousing confirmation of years of suspicions, but these last few weeks, months, had left him drained. 

The short, distinctive tone of the holovid-phone startled Sarif in the quiet of his office. He had been half-asleep in his chair, staring at, but not seeing, the scores and stats of the most recent _Tiger's_ game. It was telling, he supposed, how out of it he had been recently when he could hardly muster any enthusiasm for baseball. Sarif's gaze cut across the room, to where the chirping phone was waiting for him to accept the call. 

He figured it must be Darrow; he knew of no one else who would call him this late at night. He groaned as he stood from his chair, the flesh around his augmented arm aching in time with steady thrum of his heart. Sarif didn't bother to check the ID before accepting the call. 

He was honestly surprised to see the shimmering image of Eliza Cassan materialize before him. She smiled at him in that serene sort of manner she had (even as she delivered the most horrifying of news) and Sarif clicked his mouth shut so he could settle it into a wary frown. He hadn't expected to see her again so soon. 

"Hello, David," she greeted, as though they were lifelong friends. 

"Miss Cassan," he replied, his wariness matching her warmth. "Little late out for an interview, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. I apologize for the hour. Hugh Darrow frequently talks about the late hours you keep and I hoped that because this is a personal call, you would be more inclined to speak with me."

There was something about the earnest manner in which she spoke that reminded Sarif, somewhat, of a child. He'd never seen that side of her before, she could be quite ruthless during interviews. He relaxed somewhat.

"To be honest, Miss Cassan, I didn't look at the caller ID. I thought you were Hugh." Sarif flashed a tired grin.

Her smile blossomed into a more genuine thing and it made her features (which, while beautiful, Sarif had always found cold) soften into something warm. Then, suddenly it was gone, almost like the flickering of an old movie reel, one moment she was smiling, the next her face was neutral.

"I know we have not always gotten along, David-"

Sarif's hands went to his hips and he frowned. "That's an understatement. You crucified me tonight."

Her face took on a look of sorrow. "I know, and I am sorry. I have to say and do the things They want." Sarif's gaze refocused on her sharply, intently interested in what she was saying now. "That does not mean it is a personal reflection, something I have only recently decided I could have. I have always liked you, David, and I do not wish to see you fall."

Sarif stared at Eliza for several silent moments and she allowed it, her gaze betraying nothing. He couldn't decide whether or not he should believe her. Finally, he said, "Did you simply call to tell me that? Or do you have some ulterior motive, Miss Cassan?"

"Adam came to see me."

"I know."

"He has questions. Ones which Zhao unearthed and I have re-enforced. He will have questions for you about Them." She turned away briefly then, pain flashing across her face. "I want to tell him, but I am unable to. You must. Trust him with this, he will listen."

Sarif moved to the window. The view of Detriot’s downtown should have comforted him, but that night it was marred with riots and offered no succour. "That's a hell of a bomb to drop."

"He already suspects." She paused momentarily, then, "I blocked the satellites over Detroit so that you could not track Megan Reid and her team. I have regretted that action ever since. At the time, I did not truly understand what that action meant. I see now what I was party to. I do not wish to see you harmed."

A scathing retort was on the edge of his tongue when Sarif turned back to face Eliza, but her open expression of grief stayed it. His face shifted into confusion. Since when did Eliza Cassan give a damn about what happened to him, or his people, or his company?

"Adam is on his way back to Detroit now and will arrive within the next half hour. He will be looking for Isaias Sandoval."

Sarif's brow furrowed. "Taggart's aid?"

"Yes. He was a trauma surgeon-"

Suddenly it clicked. "He removed the implants, didn't he? They weren't supposed to be able to do that! _Sonuvabitch,_ " Sarif growled and looked away from Eliza's image. His gaze landed on his desk where the VIP badge Taggart had given him rested. "I don't know where Sandoval is, but I know who will." Sarif looked back at her in time to see a smile curve her lips.

"I have to go now; I have tarried too long. Be safe. And remember David, everyone lies." Her image died and Sarif was left gazing at where she was. The last statement seemed especially pointed and he wondered exactly who she was speaking of. Sarif filed it away for later, he other things to worry about now. 

He was about to placed a call to Malik when a searing pain shot through his head and he let out a cry of surprise. The edges of his vision blackened and Sarif sagged against the window, knees nearly buckling. The pain lasted no more than a few seconds, but it left him shaky and out of breath. He took a few slow, deep breaths. Thankfully, the pain did not return. It was unfamiliar, and he wondered if he was pushing the time between his Neuropozyne injections too far. 

Sarif walked over to his desk and collapsed in his chair. He fished out a couple of painkillers from the bottle in his desk drawer and used the last of the scotch he'd poured earlier to wash them down. Then he called Malik. His Infolink buzzing gently in his ear as he waited for her to pick up. 

"Faridah," he greeted when the line clicked through.

"Hey, boss. We're on our way back from Picus. Should be there soon."

"Good. Listen, take Adam to his apartment, I'll meet him there." 

"Uh, sure. Any particular reason?"

"Riots are choking the area right now, he won't be able to access any of the streets surrounding the building.” Sarif sighed. “We're number one on their shit-list at the moment."

Malik swore under breath. "I didn't realize it had gotten so bad. Alright. And boss? Call Weston in, he's the only pilot I trust with your life. Aside from me, of course."

Sarif smiled, it was a tired but genuine thing. "I will."

"Good. Malik out."

He was about to call Athena's name to activate the inter-office comms when he remembered she'd left for the night. Shaking his head in annoyance at his own forgetfulness, Sarif called up Weston's number from his file. As the phone rang his eyes caught sight of the VIP badge again and he scowled at it, that cocky sonuvabitch.

Later, as he watched Adam systematically quash every one of Taggart's arguments and made the man look a fool at his own speech, Sarif laughed, feeling better than he had in a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene, and a pair to the previous one. During the Detroit riots. Set between Adam returning to his apartment to hitch a ride back to Sarif Industries, up to and including Sarif briefing him on the located GPL signal.

Sarif was on the vid-phone when Pritchard burst through his office doors. His unannounced entrance caused Sarif to flick his gaze up and an annoyed expression to cross his face. He held up one hand in a gesture of _'Give me a minute,'_ and went back to the call.

"I know it's bad, Mike. We're right smack dab in the middle of this shit storm. What I want to know, is how long it’s going to take the DPD to get this under control. I've got a lot of scared people here and they want to go home, but right how those rioters are trashing the front steps of this building."

"I can't give you any definite timeline here, we'll get it under control when we get it under control. You harassing me with this isn't going to make my men move any faster. We can't always jump to your beck and call, David." There was an annoyed tone to the Captain of the Detroit Police's voice that went beyond irritation at Sarif's call. He was still sore about the Milwaukee incident.

Sarif scowled at the Captain. "I didn't realize 'Serve and Protect' meant that you were at my beck and call. Maybe I should recheck my, frankly, outrageous taxes to see if that falls under my purview. I'm not asking for the moon, Mike. I just want my people to be safe; something you’re currently not providing."

"You've got a private security force, that's more than L.I.M.B. has. We have to deal with the greatest threats first."

"Cut the shit. You and I both know, that the bulk of the threats are right here in Sarif Plaza."

The Captain was unmoved. This was clearly punishment for the earlier threats of pension funding cuts. Selfish prick. He was going to let the riots continue even with the possibility of injury to the employees still left in house and the crowd of rioters itself. Not to mention the damage to all the buildings in the plaza.

"L.I.M.B. is the priority right now. When we have that secured, we will move into Sarif Plaza. Not a moment before," the Captain said, voice brisk and cold. He cut the call. 

"Fuck you too, Mike," Sarif snarled at the blank screen and then motioned Pritchard over. "What have you got, Frank?" 

Pritchard had been standing near the office’s entrance, radiating a tense, excited energy. He exploded forward, toward Sarif's desk.

"Sandoval just told Jensen that he was unable to remove the implants, so he changed their frequency."

Sarif sat upright at that. "Can you locate them?"

"Yes and no..." Pritchard faltered. "I can't scan for them from here, we just don't have the range. But, I have a friend in the DoD. I can call in a favour for this."

"The DoD..." 

"It's not ideal, but she's trustworthy."

 _It doesn't matter,_ Sarif thought, _trustworthy or not, the moment this goes through the DoD servers, They'll know._ He gave it a moment of further consideration, but there was never really any other choice. 

"Alright, call it in and let me know as soon as you've got-" Sarif interrupted himself in surprise as he caught sight of his office doors opening for the second time that night. 

Pritchard followed his gaze to where Hugh Darrow was stepping through the door held open by one of his augmented bodyguards. 

"I apologize, David. I didn't realize you already had company," Darrow said as he slowly made his way toward Sarif's desk. 

"It's...fine, just give me a moment," Sarif said and turned back to Pritchard, voice pitched low. "Buzz me on my Infolink when you have something." 

Pritchard raised an eyebrow at that, but wisely remained silent and nodded his head once before striding out of the room.

Darrow eased himself down in one of the chairs in front of Sarif's desk. Crippled though he was, there was always something graceful about the way Darrow moved. 

"I didn't know you were in Detroit, Hugh. Here to watch Taggert's self-righteous bullshit about augments while simultaneously whipping the people of this city into a frenzied riot?"

Darrow chuckled, at what Sarif assumed was the heat in his voice, and it made him frown. "No, I'm just passing through actually. Though, I did catch what your man said to Taggart. Was that a CASIE augment at work?"

"Yeah, though Adam's always been good at ruffling feathers, he's just more effective now." Sarif couldn't help the brief smile that crossed his face as he recalled his own tangle with Adam and his CASIE aug. 

"Indeed," Darrow replied, a knowing smile in his voice. 

"You picked a hell of a time to drop in, Hugh," Sarif said, gesturing to the windows and the current cluster-fuck that was Detroit at that moment. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you here?"

"I'm on my way to Panchea, and I have been giving your request some thought." 

"And?"

"In light of all the violence as of late, it seems we need a coming together, now more than ever. I think it an excellent idea to gather all sides of the augment debate and what better place than Panchea?" 

Sarif smiled; he had been worried he wasn't going to be able to rely on Darrow's aid for this. The man was strangely distant lately. "When?"

"I'll need a day to make the appropriate invitations, but I was hoping for it to coincide with the official activation of Panchea."

"That's three days from now."

"Two actually, as it is now after midnight."

Sarif frowned and look to the window, lost in thought for a moment. Could they find Megan and her team by then? It was extremely short notice. Then again, the shorter the better he supposed. Less time for the Illuminati to form a counter strike. 

"David?" Darrow's voice called him back from his thoughts. "That is acceptable, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Hugh." Sarif didn't miss the way Darrow's face looked guilty for a brief moment at his words, but it was gone before he could properly analyze it. 

Sarif roughly scrubbed his hands over his face, pleased that, _finally_ , things seemed to be turning in his favour. 

"You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?"

Darrow's voice held genuine concern, but Sarif couldn't help the sharp bark of sarcastic laughter. "I don't have time to sleep. Keeping this company solvent has become a 24-hour responsibili-" Sarif let out a startled groan of pain. 

The searing pain from earlier was back, though dampened somewhat by the painkillers already in his system. He pressed the palms of both his hands to his forehead, and after a few moments, it was gone, but it seemed to last longer than last time. 

"David? David, what's wrong?" Darrow's asked, a worried edge to his voice.

Sarif rubbed slow circles on his forehead. "I'm not sure. Second time tonight I've had this flash of intense pain…" Sarif let his hands drop back to his desk.

"When was the last time you had a Neuropozyn injection?"

"Almost a month ago-" Darrow made a noise somewhere between shock and a reprimand, "-but it isn't like that kind of pain. It's more intense than rejection syndrome."

Darrow's face closed down at those words. His voice became brisk, business-like. "I see. Perhaps it is a malfunctioning cranial implant. The Infolink is still technically in beta testing." 

Sarif stared at Darrow, suddenly wary of his demeanour. "If that were the case, it should be interfering with my cognitive functions, I haven't experienced any of that. Besides, I would have noticed something earlier."

"Would you have? Between your lack of sleep and refusal to follow the recommended intervals between injections, would you truly be able to tell?"

The condescension in Darrow's tone made Sarif bristle. He was poised for a cutting remark when a call came through on his Infolink. His eyes flicked away from Darrow as he accepted the call.

"I've located a signal. I'm sending the coordinates to my terminal," Pritchard said quickly before cutting the call. 

That information calmed Sarif somewhat, so his next words to Darrow didn't hold the bite they would have. 

"I have enough of a handle on my mental facilities to know when they are being impaired." Sarif stood from his chair. "Something has just come up, excuse me for a few minutes."

"Of course," Darrow said, all charm and ease again, but Sarif could feel Darrow's calculating gaze on his back as strode out of the office and he was suddenly sure he didn't want Darrow to see what floor he was going to. 

When he arrived in the Tech Lab, Pritchard was nowhere to be found. He sat down at the desk anyways and almost immediately the holoscreen flared to life with Pritchard's scowling continence on it. The space behind him was dark, and Sarif couldn't tell where Pritchard was, but he could hear the distant sounds of sirens in the background. Off screen, Pritchard typed a few things on the keyboard.

"I've located Sevchenko's GPL," Pritchard said as a map flashed on the screen. 

Sarif eyes widened as he realized where the signal was broadcasting from. "Hengsha?"

"I was just as surprised. Though given TYM's apparent involvement, maybe we shouldn't be." Pritchard looked at something off screen, then focused back on Sarif. "Jensen should be there shortly, I would brief him in person, but I'm afraid I'll be out of the building until the riots end. It was hard enough getting out; I don't think I'll be getting back in anytime soon."

"Don't put yourself at risk, Frank. I'll brief Adam. Good work, and stay safe."

He gave a sharp nod. "Pritchard out."

Sarif exited the Tech Labs and headed back to the public elevator. He leaned against the railing and watched as the Detroit skyline rose around him. In the distance, a billboard for Picus News caught his attention and Eliza's parting words from earlier swam through his head. "...And remember, David, everyone lies." As the city disappeared behind the metal shaft of the elevator, Sarif knew that pointed statement was directed at Hugh Darrow. Twenty years in the augmentation industry had made him wary of trusting the words of most people, but there was one person he'd always trusted unequivocally. 

He was still reeling from the implications of what Darrow's dishonesty could mean as he stepped through the doors of his office to find Adam and Darrow in the middle of a conversation. 

"Adam? You're back! Uh, can I speak to you outside?" Adam gave Darrow one last look before crossing the room to Sarif. Sarif led him out the short hall and back toward Athene's desk. "Get to the helipad, son. You're going back to Hengsha Island. Frank tracked down one of the GPL's."

"Only one? Is it-?"

Sarif cut that question short, he didn't want to get the man's hopes up. "Sevchenko's. But Adam, he had to call in a favour from the DoD to do it."

"Meaning...the conspirators probably know I'm coming."

Sarif nodded and left Adam standing next to Athene's desk. As he headed back into his office to deal with Darrow, Sarif could feel the cold sting of betrayal as it crept through his mind. He clenched his augmented hand in denial. Darrow wouldn't do that to him. Sure, the man had secrets, everyone had secrets, Sarif had secrets, but Darrow wouldn't outright lie to him. 

Darrow gave him a ghost of a smile as Sarif stopped beside him. “I trust all is well?”

“Yeah. Well, as alright as anything is with all that going on out there.” Sarif gestured weakly to the windows.

“Of course. Nothing a decent night’s sleep wouldn't cure, I'm sure.”

“Them or me?”

“Both, I should think.”

Sarif huffed a breath of laughter and they were silent for a time. Then, one of Darrow's augmented guards made a motion and Darrow sighed.

“It's time for me to go, David. Panchea awaits.” Darrow started moving toward the office doors, and Sarif walked with him. He stopped before stepping out of the office and turned to face Sarif. “You'll get some rest, won't you?” Darrow asked, a smile quirking the edges of his lips like he knew the request wasn't going to be heeded but needed to be poised nonetheless.

“I'll try.” 

Ideally, Sarif was going to go home and collapse in his bed after the riots were cleared and sleep for a few hours before standing under a too-hot shower. It wasn't going to be long enough or restful enough, but it was going to have to do. 

Darrow seemed to read that in his face, because he nodded, somewhat sadly. He turned to go, then paused and turned back. He looked at Sarif, a jumble of emotions playing across his features, grief and determination the chiefest among them. 

“David, I- L.I.M.B. is going to issue a recall and replacement for defective neural biochips, do not get one. Your headaches will dissipate in time.”

Sarif frowned in confusion. “Why? What's going on, Hugh?”

Darrow looked away. “Do this for me, David. _Please._ ” The almost broken tone of his voice swayed Sarif.

“Alright.”

Darrow left then, with a regal head nod and his face neutral. 

The next morning L.I.M.B. issued it's recall and Frank came to him with some concerns. Sarif told him the same thing Darrow said to him, don't get one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene. Post surgery and pre-Milwaukee Plant mission. This is the argument between Sarif and Adam that was alluded to in couple previous snippets. My take on how the mirror in Adam's apartment was smashed and why he doesn't tell management how it happened.

"I must reiterate what a terrible idea this is, David. I have been getting all kinds of complaints from the management about Adam's behaviour. I hate to say it, but you're the last person he wants to see right now," Athene's concerned voice spoke in his ear. Sarif, riding upwards in the Chiron Building's elevator, frowned at the metal doors. Though she couldn't see him, he knew she could imagine the look on his face.

"I haven't seen Adam in two months and we haven't talked in over three weeks. He's been avoiding me. If he wants to fight with me about his situation, I'll let him, it's the least he deserves. But I won't let him isolate himself."

Athene huffed a weary, all suffering sigh. "It's clear I can't talk you out of this, but know this David Sarif when you come back here tail tucked between your legs because Adam gave you a good verbal thrashing I'll simply say 'I told you so'."

"And you'd be right."

"Par for the course then, isn't it?"

Sarif chuckled. "Good night, Athene."

"Good night." She clicked off the line and a moment later the elevator doors opened on Adam's floor.

Sarif strode down the hall to Adam's apartment. He hesitated briefly outside the door, augmented arm poised to press the door chime, even though his biometrics were keyed to the lock. He could open it without Adam's permission and had done so on several occasions when Adam had first arrived at this apartment to recover; however, in this instance, it seemed more appropriate to allow Adam the opportunity to answer the door himself. He pressed the chime -a single beep on this side of the door was all the acknowledgement Sarif received.

It took several minutes for the door to open and Sarif's hands went to his hips as he waited. Simultaneously annoyed and worried about how long it was taking for Adam to come to the door. He was considering opening the lock himself when the door finally slid open revealing Adam's scowling continence.

"Adam."

"Boss." Despite the deference that one word implied, Sarif very nearly recoiled at the contempt in Adam's tone. He stood his ground, however.

"We should talk."

Adam's lanky, shirtless frame didn't move from the doorway. "About what?"

"About why you've been dodging my calls, for starters."

"That should be obvious, _boss_."

Sarif sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing for a brief moment he had brought his baseball so he'd have something to occupy his hands with. "Let's not do this in the hall."

Adam stared at him a moment longer, gaze hard. It was made even more so by his augmented eyes and the sharp angles of his facial implants. Then, he stepped aside and gestured, with the hand holding a half empty bottle of rye, for Sarif to come in. Sarif brushed past Adam and headed down the short staircase into the living room.

The space was still cluttered by unopened boxes despite it having been more than four months since Adam moved in. Sarif moved to the desk in the corner, next to the tv, and examined the clock that Adam was building. It hadn't changed much since the last time Sarif had seen it, not a good sign. He wondered what Adam had been occupying himself with, aside from the whiskey.

Sarif could feel Adam's gaze burning into the back of his head and turned to face him. Adam was standing behind the couch, the bottle deposited somewhere for the time being, and a glass, half full of rye, now in his hand. His augmented arms dully reflected the yellow light of Detroit's street lights and a pair of worn sweatpants covered his legs. His augmented feet were bare, however, and clicked sharply against the wooden floor.

"So, are you going to talk or just mentally catalogue all the things I haven't done since you were here last?" Adam's tone was cutting and Sarif bristled against it.

" _Both._ "

Adam stepped around the couch. "Am I not recovering fast enough for you?"

"You'll recover at your own pace, Adam. I don't expect anything else. But alcohol is probably not helping with the neural bonding agents."

"Worried I'll get rejection syndrome?"

'No,' Sarif thought, 'I'm worried about your mental health.' Aloud he said, "It's a painful thing to have, believe me."

"Says the man who removed his arm to _pitch_ better."

Sarif's face went tight with displeasure, was that one quip going to follow him around forever? "Did Frank tell you that?"

Adam didn't answer, just coldly stared at Sarif. Then, he downed his rye and set the glass on top of a box.

Sarif crossed his arms, the engravings on his augmented arm glinting in the low light. "I lost my right arm, below the elbow, in a car crash when I was twelve. I've had prosthetics since then, mostly crude ones. Hugh Darrow built me a more dexterous model when he saw mine after a speech he gave at MIT. I was still a student then and it wasn't until I received it, that I became interested in prosthetics and augmentations. I had the rest of my arm removed after I started Sarif Industries to test out our first prosthetic arm model. I made that flippant comment about pitching better _years_ ago and it has dogged me ever since."

Adam look away from Sarif but didn't offer an apology. Sarif didn't expect one, but at least that information seemed to win a few points in his favour.

Sarif uncrossed his arms. It was now or never concerning this conversation. "Adam, you can't keep isolating yourself. Athene says you haven left the apartment in a month. You won't take my calls, you won't take anyone's calls. Mrs. Reed called me this morning to ask if you were okay. I couldn't honestly tell her yes. She's worried about you, we all are."

"If you were really worried about me, then you would have let me die in that pile of rubble instead of turning me into this!" Adam exploded as he pushed himself into Sarif's personal space. Sarif didn't back away.

"You wouldn't let yourself die, Adam. You think we resuscitated you? You were still alive when we found you. _You_ fought for life. I just gave you the means to keep on living."

"Then why didn't you simply fix what was broken and leave what was not? I have the medical reports, you told the doctors to remove healthy limbs and organs so you could have them replaced with augments. For Christssake, I'm more machine than man now!"

Sarif grabbed a hold of Adam's arm with his own augmented one. "You think this is the judge of whether or not you're human? You think this makes you more or less of a man? This," Sarif gestured with Adam's arm, "is an extension of you, the same as your organic arm was. It's no different. The measure of a man is his deeds, not his body."

Adam wrenched his arm away. "You're fucking unbelievable. You're not even one bit sorry are, you? Christ."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Adam. I'm sorry about Megan, and Vasili, Eric, Declan and Nia. I'm sorry that you're struggling, but I'm not sorry for giving you those augments, Adam. I'll never be sorry for that."

For a moment it looked like Adam was going to hit him and Sarif tensed to dodge it, then Adam clenched his fists and turned away.

" _Get out,_ " he snarled and stalked across the living space to the bedroom.

Sarif didn't move. "And if I leave now, will you? You can't ignore the world, son. You can't sit in here forever feeling sorry for yourself. You're meant for great things Adam, this is only the beginning."

Adam paused at the bedroom's threshold. "And what great thing is that? A guinea pig for you?"

That stung more that Sarif cared to admit. He spoke the truth when he said he wasn't sorry for giving Adam the augments, he was, however, sorry for not giving Adam the choice.

"You were never that."

Adam laughed at that, it was a bitter hollow sound. "Whatever you say, boss."

Sarif watched him disappear into the bedroom and wavered for a moment in the living room. He could leave now, come back in a few days and try and talk with Adam again, or he could go in there and keep pushing Adam out of his blanket of anger and bitterness, and probably get a black eye and broken cheek for his trouble.

Sarif rubbed the back of his neck and strode in after Adam.

The room was dark and the curtains were drawn against the night. The only light source was from the bathroom where the door was slightly ajar. Sarif moved to outside the door and settled himself against the narrow shelf along the wall.

"You can hate me, Adam, that's your prerogative. You can hate what I've done and you can hate what you are now. But what you don't seem to understand is that _who you are_ hasn't changed. If augments could change someone's soul then we really would lose who we are and maybe those anti-augs would have a leg to stand on.

"But these augments have only made your body faster, stronger; they've made your mind work faster; made you see clearer and farther. But they haven't changed your view of the world, haven't changed how you think, and they haven't changed who you are."

The bathroom door was yanked open and Adam glared at him from the doorway, silhouetted by the light. "I thought I told you to leave."

That comment rankled Sarif and he spoke without thinking. "I don't take orders from you, son."

That finally broke Adam's control on his temper. The half bottle of whiskey probably hadn't helped either. Adam lunged forward and grabbed Sarif by his waistcoat, yanking him into the bathroom and shoving up against the counter.

"And I'm _done_ taking orders from you, Sarif," Adam seethed, not letting up on his grip.

Sarif braced his hands on the counter, trying to relieve some of the pressure that Adam was placing on him by leaning his weight against Sarif.

"If you want to quit, go ahead. I'll be sorry to see you go, but I won't stop you. But we both know that you're angrier with yourself than you are with me."

" _Fuck you._ "

"You blame yourself for not saving Megan and by extension, me, because I gave you the augments that saved your life and not hers."

Adam's fists clenched tighter. "Don't talk about her."

"She was my friend. I would have done almost anything for Megan, but _that_ just wasn't for us do. There was no saving her, or any of them." Grief flashed across Sarif's features and for a moment Adam's grip lessened. "Don't you think I feel that failure just as acutely as you do? I was their boss, it was my duty to keep them safe."

"Stop talking."

Sarif's voice went soft and low. "It was never your fault, Adam. She was beyond your ability to save."

Adam made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and released Sarif. For a brief moment, Sarif was grateful, but he saw the tensing of Adam's arm and torso and knew that in that split-second that Adam was reading for a punch that Sarif had no way to dodge. He flinched as Adam's fist travelled toward him and heard a sickening sound of something shattering. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't, in fact, his face, but rather the mirror behind him.

Slowly, Adam uncurled his fist from where it had impacted with the glass and stepped back from Sarif. He didn't say anything, just sat down heavily on the toilet seat. Sarif hauled himself off where Adam had awkwardly placed him on the counter and straightened his rumpled waistcoat.

"Son..."

Adam flinched away from the sound of Sarif's voice. "Please leave."

"...Alright. But Adam, you're not alone in this."

Sarif left the bathroom and headed back out into main living space. He slowly climbed the few stairs to the front door landing, pausing briefly to take a deep breath and let it out before stepping out of the apartment and into the hallway. Silently, he prayed that one day Adam would forgive him because he knew he couldn't fight this war alone.


End file.
